


Redemption

by arekeytaketour



Category: Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Batman: Arkham Knight Genesis (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Jason is Arkham Knight, Jason swears a lot here, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24226114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arekeytaketour/pseuds/arekeytaketour
Summary: I still hate the old man, but now, I’m doing what I think is right.How the Arkham Knight redeemed himself and also his mentor for their past mistakes.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Slade Wilson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 71





	Redemption

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I wrote something in this fandom... This is my take on what happened to the end of the Batman: Arkham Knight game. You can think of this fic as a filler for the game, kinda, with a JayDick twist. For me, Jason helping Bruce, in the end, is a bit rushed and out of character for Jason. Not enough drama! So yeah, I made this. Also, a bit disappointed with Slade's and Jason's boss fights with Bruce. I mean, what is that?? It's a letdown, for sure...
> 
> Enjoy!

Ever since childhood, I have goals in my life, even the simplest one. I was surviving to live with any means possible -- stealing, mostly -- since childhood. Then I was striving to help people and Gotham as best as I could. Escaped Arkham and its inmate -- and the clown, goddammit -- was my main goal for more than a year being a captive there. After Arkham, my whole life was driven with revenge -- for the bat, the clown, for anyone who had forgotten me.

Although, I heard that the clown is dead. When I heard the news, I thought the old man finally got the balls to pull the trigger and avenged me. 

Oh, how naive I was… 

Turns out, the fucking prick died of a _natural cause_ \-- if a deadly, weird, virus can be qualified as natural -- and the almighty Batman had nothing to do with it. The clown tried to revive himself in the Lazarus Pit but failed, and that was the final nail to his coffin. 

But wait. The worst part of this sad demise of the Clown Prince of Gotham was that Batman carried his corpse out of Arkham City and -- the worst, _worst part_ of this story ever -- looked _sorry_ for the Joker’s death.

How _the fuck_ that Bruce felt remorse over that sad piece of shit’s death and not mine?! I was his Robin, his partner! His _legal fucking adopted son_ and he did nothing when I was ‘supposedly killed’! The Joker killed more people than I am! Not even tonight I killed enough people to rival that insane motherfucker! Scarecrow perhaps wins the most kills thanks to his crazy gas. 

That sick clown and his friends tortured me but Batman _did nothing_. 

And so I marched to Gotham City with hatred and promises of vengeance to Batman. I want him to suffer. I want him to feel useless. I want him dead.

And I failed.

It’s not like I didn’t try to kill him. I did. I tried everything from deploying bombs all over the city, commanding tons of drones and APCs to destroy him, kidnapping Barbara to break his spirit, and even chasing his batmobile in a tunnel drill but none of them were successful. 

After a long night of cat-and-mouse chase, I finally confront Bruce about my identity, revealing to him that, “Hey, asshole, I’m not dead. You should look for a body next time shit like this happens.” He claimed to be the best detective but one simple recording -- from a villain no less! -- convinced him that I lost forever. Pathetic. 

_“Jason, I can help you!”_

Too late for that, old man. He should have tried at least a year ago before Joker got me.

Before Joker _broke_ me.

Fuck, my side hurts after fell four times from my sniping positions. Most damages were absorbed by my body armor but I guess some ribs might be fractured. Breathing is a bit difficult now. 

I remember for a second there I got him. My pistols were trained on his face, right under his chin, and yet… 

And yet, _I couldn’t pull the trigger_. 

I _hate him_ , I do, with all my heart. I want him _dead_. 

_And yet, I couldn’t pull the trigger._

Now, I hope Slade will finish the deed. He is the only capable villain I know in the entire world that can go neck-to-neck with Batman and has skills to actually kill him.

_“Joker got you! I know what it’s like!”_

No shit, Sherlock. Maybe I should send you a Christmas card from the asylum, taking a couple of pictures with Joker and other inmates as a _friendly greeting_ and the hospitality I received in Arkham. And maybe I should send you a Christmas gift too; that bloodied crowbar or that J-shaped stamp will make a _cute_ collection in your Bat-fucking-cave.

How dare he say that… that he _knew_ what it’s like?!

The old man doesn't know a thing about my pain. If he does, then he will not let me rot in Arkham Asylum with those inmates and… _him_. If Batman truly is the greatest detective, he will not let me -- dead or alive -- stay in that hellhole forever!

And Batman did _nothing_. He won’t even bother to find my dead body! 

I punch a wall in frustration and immediately regret it as pain shots across my body. I fall on my knees, holding my injured chest and cursing. Bad move, Jason, bad move. You know better not to punch a solid brick wall while injured. 

I take a deep breath to calm myself and after a minute, I look around. Gotham City hasn’t changed much after years I spend locked in the asylum: same skylight, same gargoyles, same shitty residence. Spending years running the streets and jumping on its rooftops makes navigating Gotham easy. That is if I don’t have a broken helmet covering almost sixty percent of my view. The static keeps messing up my vision. Unfortunately, I can’t take it off, no. Someone might see me. Keeping my identity is important, although I was practically dead.

That’s the only teaching from Bruce that I deem worthy to remember. While I was… his partner.

_“Stand down, Robin!”_

I have never been a Robin to Bruce. Even though I tried as hard as I could, trained as much as I can, everything I did was never good enough as a Robin, because I’m too brash, too hot-headed, and too full of anger. Wearing the costume made the transition even worse and further separated me from truly becoming a Robin. I am a failure since the beginning and Bruce was probably happy when I died. 

_“You’re Robin, Jason. You’re not what he made you!”_

Now it makes sense why Bruce didn’t search for my body or avenge my death… 

I was just a pawn in his little game against crime. Pathetic piece of shit that Bruce picked up from the street. A charity case. Garbage. Replaceable.

It’s too late, Bruce. No one can save me, not even myself.

.

.

I groan in pain as I land on a dingy fire escape and lean my tired body against the dirty brick wall. I take off my gauntlet and search for that secret panel to scan my fingerprints while silently wishing that Bruce didn’t delete my biometric data. I sigh in relief as the window clicked open, letting me slide into the dark apartment. Thank you, Bruce Wayne, for not deleting my biometric data from all of your properties. I believe you didn’t delete because you thought I’m _dead_ and the dead person can’t slide into your property. 

The inside of this apartment doesn’t change much since I left the family. That old coach is still there with a weird-smelling blanket draped over it. The coffee table is probably as unbalanced as I remem -- yeah, it still is. Let’s hope that the first aid kit is regularly resupplied every week. If not, then I’m fuck. Dead of me expired medication is the last thing I need… 

I drop myself onto the sofa, not even bothered with the darkness. I fumble with the mechanism on my helmet and sigh in relief as it hisses open, letting some cool air wisps against my face which is relaxing. 

This is relaxing. Being in this apartment _is_ relaxing. I can spend the rest of the night here, sleeping. Later in the morning, I can grab as many supplies as I can and escape the city. Let’s just hope that tomorrow is not Alfred’s weekly check-up on this apartment. It will be awkward to explain to him about… me. 

I look around the apartment and can’t hide a small smile. It seems deserted for months. The dust has collected on any surface, except in the kitchen, which looks pristine and clean. I bet Alfred cleaned that up recently while restocking the pantry. 

I remember this apartment being abandoned by Batman and his allies, mainly because it’s located near the Crime Alley. Besides, they have the Clock Tower which has more than they need for action. Instead of a safe-house, this one is more like a hideout from prying eyes. Bruce was here a couple of times. The first one was to get away from Vicky Vale and the other after a huge fight with Selina. No one will guess that a millionaire like Bruce Wayne -- especially with Crime Alley closeby -- spent his night in a dilapidated and smelly apartment.

Me? I love this apartment. It reminds me of the old days running and stealing on the streets. Besides the sentimental memory, spending time here makes me more humble and grateful for what I have. This place makes me remember people that once loved and cared for me. Alfred, Bruce at some point, and--

“... Jason?”

Dick Grayson…?

Suddenly, light fills the whole apartment. I quickly push myself up, ignoring the searing pain across my chest and find him standing in front of the bedroom door, a few meters away from the sofa. 

“Jason is that really you…?”

Forget Alfred. Forget the Replacement finding me here tonight or tomorrow. From all people in Gotham, why does it have to be _him_ ? I’m not ready for this. _My feelings are_ not ready for _this_! 

Dick approaches me, slowly and carefully. His eyes wander from my face to my Arkham Knight costume and finally go back to my face. “Why--what--” Dick takes a deep breath and drops himself in front of me, completely blocking me from getting up from the sofa. He raises his hands and touches my face, slowly, wiping the dirt and sweat off my cheeks then stops at the J-mark. “You’re… alive…?”

Dick Grayson and I… we have a history. 

….

Fuck it. Dick Grayson and I are -- _were_ \-- in a relationship for about six months before shits happened at Arkham Asylum. We were flirting constantly, even when I was Robin. One day, we decided that this awkward flirting needs to stop and acknowledged our feelings toward each other. It was in this apartment we shared our first kiss. Heck, we shared many firsts here, in this apartment. 

Perhaps, part of me wanted to see him before I flee the city for good, or this is some sick destiny thing going on… either way, I am not ready to face him.

“I knew it,” Dick says softly. I feel his hands now rest on my shoulders as he pushes himself closer. “I knew you were not dead. I told Bruce _many times_ that video must be fake. Tricks. I _knew_ you’re still alive.”

I can’t resist myself as I touch his hand and sigh. I can’t hate him. I tried, back in the insane asylum. The Joker told me not only to despise Batman but his allies too. The clown wanted me to hate them all for replacing me so easily. I tried to hate them all but I can’t. How can I’m mad at Alfred when he was the only person who accompanied me and made me hot chocolate whenever I couldn’t sleep? How can I hate Barbara when her only flaw is trusting Bruce too much? How can I hate Dick when he always supports and defends me from most arguments with Bruce? Dick is the only person in my life who appreciates me. I can’t hate them all, so I put the blame on Batman. Alfred didn’t search for me because Bruce told him not to. Barbara didn’t search as well because she trusts Bruce’s judgment. Dick didn’t search for me because he always followed Bruce’s examples. 

This is all Bruce’s fault. Whatever sick plan Scarecrow has for him, I’ll be happy if it successfully breaks Batman.

“You’re hurt,” Dick says, concerned, as he lightly traces my ribs. “Take off your clothes and lie on your back. I’ll patch you up.” He then runs towards the kitchen, opens a cabinet, and takes a medical kit. He also opens the refrigerator and takes out a huge pack of ice. The acrobat quickly kneels on my side and helps me lie down. “Where were you, Jason? I was worried about you. It’s been a year….”

I’m not sure if he doesn’t notice the Arkham Knight emblem on my armor or he decides to ignore it. Either way, “I was at the Arkham Asylum. The Joker had me for more than a year. Escaped during the riot. Deathstroke helped me.”

Dick presses the ice pack on my ribs and guides my hand to hold it in place as he rummages through the medical kit, searching for bandages. He looks up and smiles, “At least you’re safe now.” 

After he finds bandages, Dick quickly wraps it tightly around my chest. He makes sure that the binding is tight and continues searching for a painkiller. Once again, DIck stands up and walks to the kitchen. He returns with a glass of water then puts the pill on the coffee table, next to a glass of water. “Drink this, then we can move you to the bedroom. The sofa’s not good for injuries.”

I nod and slowly raise myself up. Dick helps me walk toward the bedroom. As I sit on top of the fresh pastel colored blanket, Dick takes out pairs of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. He put those garments next to me and sheepishly said, “I don’t have your clothes here anymore. It's just too painful, you know…”

Again, I nod. I take the sweatpants which are thankfully big enough for me. The t-shirt, however, although it might be loose on Dick, it is too tight for me. I return from the adjourned bathroom and give the t-shirt to Dick, deciding that the shirt won’t do good for my injured ribs. I swear I see him blushing a little as he stores the t-shirt back to the wardrobe and I can’t resist my own face from heating up. 

“You must rest,” Dick says, finally. A small smile comes to the corners of his small lips. He approaches me and guides me toward the bed. I can’t stop noticing his eyes linger on my exposed torso. Absorbing the view, perhaps. It’s been years anyway since we saw each other… naked? Half naked? Or, he might be wondering about new scars on my skin.

Dick helps me get up on the bed. After I settle myself under the blanket with soft pillows supporting my head and hands, he stands at the bedside, fidgeting. His eyes dart from the bedroom door to spare space next to me. I quickly make more room on the bed, knowing that he won’t leave me alone. I can’t imagine how many times he had slept here cold and alone. Dick smiles, appreciating my gesture, and climbs next to me. For a while, he just looks at me and we lie side by side in silence. I stare at the ceiling while Dick studies me. 

I feel Dick’s hand touch mine. Later, he slips his fingers between mine and squeezes it gently. “What happened to you, Jason?” He asks slowly. 

I remain silent for a while before replying, “Shits happened.”

“Does this… ‘shit’ has something to do with Scarecrow’s and his new fella’s mission to destroy Gotham?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, I hope they failed.”

“I hope they’ll succeed.”

Dick doesn’t reply. Instead, he moves his fingers, drawing circles on the back of my hand. 

“Scarecrow will ruin B.”

“I hope he will.”

“That means he’ll mess us up too; the Commissionaire, Tim, Barbara, Alfred, and me.”

“Bruce deserves it. Perhaps it is unfair to most of you but it will teach you about Batman’s flaws in work and ideology.”

“B has reasons…”

Finally, I look away from the ceiling and straight to Dick’s blue eyes. Part of me is disappointed that even now, the man I love is defending the old man. After all he has done to me, how can Dick stand up for him? “He left me to die in Arkham.”

“We thought you were dead,” says Dick, slowly and carefully. Afraid to anger me, it seems. “We tried to retrieve your body but then the riot happened. We searched, Jason, but we found nothing. I’m sorry if you thought we forgot about you but we don’t know you’re alive. We thought you...”

Dick takes a deep, crackling breath. He moves closer to me and I can smell his own shampoo -- vanilla, his favorite -- and continues, “None of us wanted to watch the recordings more than once. It’s horrible. We can’t fathom how painful it was, what horrible madness you were in. We just couldn’t do it.” Dick then raises his hand and touches the J-mark on my cheek, “The man’s dead now, Jason. Let go. You’re safe.”

“He replaced me, Dick.”

“Bruce needs someone to watch over him.” Dick insists, “ Barbara and Alfred are only able to help from the cave. I can’t do that anymore. I have my own responsibility; my own city to look out!”

Dick is right. Although he seems capable, strong, and well-prepared, Bruce Wayne can be reckless sometimes. Not reckless like tripping everywhere and spilling to the world of his extracurricular activity but this man knows no boundaries. Killing might be the only limitation for Batman, but he’ll do anything -- and I mean _anything_ \-- to lock bad guys even though his own well-being is at risk. It’s unhealthy. But he also put everyone else in danger. I kidnapped Barbara tonight to show Batman the consequences of being associated with him. But, similar to Dick, Barbara insisted that Batman needs help; that they look for each other’s backs. 

_“That’s what family is for, Jason._ ”

Fuck this family.

“We never find your body, so we built a tombstone on an empty grave with your name on it. Bruce comes there every evening to talk to you. How he missed you. How he regretted the day he lost you. How he failed you as a mentor and a father.” Dick squeezes my hand then continues, “Since you’re gone, Bruce had changed. _Everyone_ changed. Please, give him another chance to redeem himself.”

I look him in the eye, deliberating my next sentences. “ _Are you changed_?”

Those mesmerizing blue eyes stare back at mine. I can see flurries of emotions dancing there, from sadness to anger to confusion to loneliness. Dick’s hand continues to squeeze mine but then slowly, he kisses my hand. Dick then leans forward and lands a soft kiss to my cheek. 

“I love you forever, Little Wing,” He says, landing another kiss on the corner of my mouth. Dick hesitates before finally pressing his lips against mine with intensity. There is no sexual desire, more like a reassurance that I’m real.

I return the kiss and hear Dick sighs, sinking deeper into the kiss. “This is so unlike you,” I mumble against his lips as my hand brushes his messy hair, “Sappy does not suit you at all.”

Dick chuckles. “Losing you for years kinda changes me…” He moves closer to me and lays his head on my shoulder, carefully avoiding the injured part. Dick then drapes his hand over my stomach, protectively.

“Please stay.”

.

.

I don’t realize how long we fell asleep but I woke up with Dick Grayson in my arms under the shared blanket. He looks beautiful as always, although with prominent dark circles under his eyes and bruises. Tired, perhaps, from constant battle against Gotham’s villains. I hear at some point he was caught by Penguin’s men and that explained black-and-blue marks on his face. 

The sky is still dark with a cold breeze blowing from the open window--

Wait. _Open window_ …?

“I thought you’ll never wake up, kid.”

That deep voice comes from a dark corner of the bedroom. Slowly, the owner moves forward and reveals himself under the moonlight. Seeing him standing there makes me growl and put my arms around Dick, protecting him. 

“What are you doing here, Slade.”

Slade Wilson, Deathstroke, chuckles. “So the rumor is right. You quit. I thought you’re stronger than this, boy. What did he say that makes you change your mind?”

Slade might not be the best or ideal choice to help me escape Arkham at that time. However, he was the only reasonable and negotiable person among a bunch of crazy inmates during the riot. Outbid the clown was my only exit and intended to get out of that hellhole as soon as possible. So I offered the man with eyepatch money worth more than the clown promised. It worked. After I paid Slade upfront in cash with Bruce’s stolen money, we became partners. 

I know Deathstroke’s loyalty is to himself and things that keep him away from trouble. However, he appreciates people who stand with him. Right now, with me abandoning the militia and in an extension also abandoning him, might be his stamp of approval to finish me off.

“He didn’t change my mind. _I did_.” I grit my teeth and pull Dick closer to me. I don’t care if Slade wants me dead but I’ll fight him to protect Dick. Losing Dick might be the most unforgiven mistake of my life.

Slade looks at Dick who -- surprisingly -- vast asleep in my arms. The old man chuckles lightly as if understanding something before stares at me. “You’re weak,” He says, “Throwing everything we did for a pretty face.”

“Get out,” I say, trying to intimidate him, which failed actually. 

Slade knows I don’t have my weapons, not ready for combat, and injured. Constantly pulling Dick closer to me puts more pressure on my ribs and I wince involuntarily. I try to hide it but Slade must have noticed it the minute he entered the room. 

Deathstroke stands on his corner for a while now, looking at me with an unreadable expression. I’m sure he comes here to finish the job by killing me and perhaps Dick in the process. However, he doesn’t pull his gun or sword or anything; he just stands there, silently. 

I’m about to ask him why he is here but Slade beats me to it.

“I launched the rest of the bombs to the city,” says Deathstroke, “also the remaining APCs are now roaming the streets, hunting Batman.”

I’m… confused. What is this?

“I’m your second in command,” Slade continues, seemingly sees my confusion and decides to elaborate things I forgot, “When you’re gone, I took the initiative and responsibility off your back.”

That, actually, further confused me. 

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, tentatively. Slowly, I relax my grip on Dick’s sleeping form but hold my eyes to Slade’s figure, just in case.

“You paid me in cash to finish the job. I’m just doing my part in business, kid.” 

Spoken so casually, like everything is normal. There’s nothing _normal_ about Slade ‘Deathstroke’ Wilson. He either finishes the job by killing the target _or_ the one who hired him because they pay less than they agreed on. Or he just kills anyone he wants, actually. Yeah, that’s more like him….

He’s about to climb out the window but then stops. Slade turns toward me and says, “Batman might get to Scarecrow before sunrise. He might succeed but Crane prepares a trap for him. I know Batman is a smart man but I doubt he’ll come out alive.”

“Why do I need to know that?”

The mercenary shrugs, “Updating you of the current situation in the city is my job. You’re supposed to take action based on my report but since you’re out of commission, that responsibility falls to me. Enjoy whatever life you choose.” 

With that said, Deathstroke is gone. I sigh heavily, not realizing I’ve been holding my breath during most of our conversation. I’m glad Slade decided to leave me alone and took care of everything for me. 

However, his last information disturbed me a little. 

Before the attack, Scarecrow and the rest of Gotham’s villains met. We talked about gases, supplies, resources, and how my militia will contribute to our plan taking over the city. Most of them were concerned that Batman will ruin everything but Crane said that he had plans about it, which he didn’t share with everyone.

He stopped me many times from killing Bruce for his ‘plan’. I never understand how a madman thinks but whatever Crane had in mind must be something really destructive and potentially ends Batman for good.

Shouldn’t I be happy, though? That’s what you want… right?

_“Since you’re gone, Bruce had changed.”_

I’ve changed too. 

_“Please, give him another chance to redeem himself.”_

But he left me alone, in the hands of that clown….

_“I know Batman is a smart man but I doubt he’ll come out alive.”_

That’s none of my business. If Bruce decided to fall into Scarecrow’s trap, then he’s not as smart as we all know. That’ll teach everyone who looks up to him.

_“Bruce needs someone to watch over him.”_

Fuck this shit, fuck tonight, fuck everyone. Fuck them to the end of the world.

Slowly and carefully, I raise myself up, untangling my hands from Dick’s. He groans a little but continues to sleep. After convincing myself that Dick is in deep sleep, I slip my armor -- whatever I can salvage from the ruin pieces. It seems that I need to stop by one of my safehouses to resupply, though. It is impossible to infiltrate an enemy's territory without weapons and protections. Once again I peek into the bedroom, making sure that Dick is still asleep before I leave a short note on the night table. 

I still hate the old man but now, I’m doing what I think is right.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys like it! Take care of yourself and stay healthy!
> 
> Kudos and comments are welcome!


End file.
